Page 47 of The Ivory King

“Yes, we have news that will need to be brought before the elder council at dawn’s light,” Umeris stated with fire. “Sit and listen, Fylson, for some who seek to sit on the ivory throne have acted evilly to achieve an end they could not acquire without murderous intent.”

Fylson gave us all curious looks but sat on a chair that Pasil carried from the hearth to the desk. I stood with those that I would soon cleave unto me as Umeris began his tale of avarice and betrayal taking root in the royal court of Melowynn.

The first dawn colors, soft burned orange and yellow to match the slowly changing leaves to the north, touched the sky as a timid tapping on the door had all our heads turning.

We’d been gathered around Umeris’ desk as if in a war room as opposed to a lavish guest suite plotting.

“My lord Grand Advisor, the bells for morning prayers will ring soon,” the deep voice of my grandfather’s personal guard called through the door. Umeris glanced at those gathered around his desk. Fylson shook his head.

“My foot pains me too greatly to walk. I shall say my prayers in my room. Please have Widow Poppy prepare my usual breakfast. Oh, and, Jaska, I am looking for my grandson and his future bride to return soon. When you lay eyes on them, please let me know.”

“As you wish, Grand Advisor. Would you like me to send the grand cloisterer up to pray with you?” Jaska asked through the stout door.

“No, no, I am not in the mood to deal with that mousy fool,” Umeris snapped, and the sound of heavy footfalls walking down the corridor gently faded away.

“Widow Poppy is here and cooking for you?” I asked, a small surge of joy sparking in my heart. I would trade every inch of my tangled hair for one of her honey cakes.

“She has prepared everything that goes into my mouth since the discovery that Raloven’s death was from being poisoned,” Umeris explained. I nodded. That sounded wise. “I will send word to her that she will cook all the meals for the people of Renedith forthwith. Fylson, I suggest you do not eat anything from the royal kitchens unless my cook has overseen its preparation. We do not wish to lose you as well.”

“I am of no import to the Mossbells now,” Fylson said with a sad note of truth. He was a man without a role, a lover, and a future. His loss surrounded him like a fog. “I think we need to worry more about Aelir, for he is now the sole thing standing in the way of the Mossbells sitting on the throne. Our plan is a good one.”

“I am not sure it is,” V’alor interjected, his voice tinged with worry. “It places Aelir in great danger. Surely we can think of something else to lure the twins into unplanned action.”

I shook my head to clear it. Fatigue sat on all of our shoulders, weighing us down like wet bags of sand.

“No, it is a good plan,” I said, glancing at Raewyn, for she, too, had a large role to play in this charade that had been birthed during the night. She sighed heavily but bobbed her head in agreement. Merrilyn, always at her side, much like V’alor was at mine, scowled but said nothing. She had argued against this scheme just as V’alor had, but in the end, they had come to see it was the best way to out the Mossbells. Time was of the essence. A new king must be named, an heir created, and the future secured. A weighty burden to be shared by three elves and a human, but shoulder it we must. My sight flicked around the room.

“I second the plan,” Umeris softly said.

“And I third it,” Fylson chimed in.

V’alor frowned but inclined his head in agreement as did the others circling the old desk. Tezen and Pasil were stationed outside the door, and Beiro was on the balcony, his chin resting on his arms as he hugged his knees. Our ginger guide might look asleep, but I knew he was listening. They would need to be briefed on our plan as well.

“The castle is thick with rats and the best way to catch vermin is with a trap baited with cheese,” I said with more cheek than I felt. This could work well, or it could end with me lying dead on the floor in a royal salon for I, it seemed, was the finest wheel of elven gold cheddar to be found in Celear.

OUR FIRST STEP IN LAYING THE FOUNDATIONto bring the Mossbells to justice was for Raewyn and me to make our first courtly appearances. With a few well-placed whispers in the right pointed ears—Pasil’s pipe-loving cousin and a few washerwomen that Merrilyn had run into—the news that the Stillcloud heir and his intended had arrived in the wee hours of the night began to spread throughout Castle Avolire.

Raewyn and I had little time to get settled into our new roles. Baths were brought up to Umeris and Fylson’s suites, the ladies taking the secretary’s room temporarily while I washed and changed in my grandfather’s suite. Umeris napped while I readied myself for morning prayers and the march of the fallen king to his tomb. V’alor and my guards had slipped off to the guard’s barracks to wash up, change their underclothes, and buff their armor.

The first peal of the bells in the capital’s church rang out just as the sun crested the surface of the sea, turning the Silvura a brilliant scarlet color with small white caps rolling toward the shore. I stood on the balcony, my leather armor on the floor, my skin clean and smelling of crushed pine and wax wood, my hair brushed out. On my left biceps, I wore a black satin band.

“We’ll ring for staff to clean your armor,” Umeris called from his bed. I gave the sea one final look and then turned to reenter his room. It was just us now. He was stretched outon the massive bed, looking more and more frail every time I looked at him. “Aelir, this is a good plan, one that I wish I had more of a role in.”

“You need to play your part as we decided. And that is for you to be bedridden with a severe case of podagra and unable to leave your room. That will give them confidence. Once Fylson announces that he is planning to return to his home along the Galesdi Gulf that will seemingly move another keen eye from the castle.”

“Fylson will be hard to disguise,” Umeris said as he sipped some tea and nibbled on sweet crackers. I sat down beside him and plucked a honey cake from his tray. One bite took me back to Renedith and my boyhood.

“His helm will conceal his identity well enough,” I said between bites of golden cake dripping with rich honey. “Widow Poppy has not lost her touch,” I announced as I sucked the last drops of sticky honey from my fingers. “If we stay—”

“Oh we will stay, Aelir. If you do not take the throne, Melowynn will fall into chaos.” Umeris handed me a cloth. “Wipe your fingers. You are no longer a snotty lad running about after a wood elf seeking slugs in the garden to taunt your tutors with.”

I smiled at the mental image. “I miss Kenton.”

“I’m sure once you are seated on the ivory throne, you will summon your reformist friend and his entourage to Avolire to spread their woodland nonsense among the court,” Umeris huffed, but the umbrage lacked real ire.

“I shall name him Grand Nonsense Spewer,” I teased and got a snort from the old bastard that may have been a sound of amusement but only to those who knew him well. The second bell rang, splitting the calm air as the faithful were summoned to prayer and to the final march of Raloven’s body to the tombs in the massive shrine. “I must go fetch Raewyn.”

He waved me off with his teacup, his sight on me as if he wished to speak. When he said nothing more, I stepped into the hall. There stood V’alor in his copper armor, a new helm on his head, his dark eyes moving over me in my finery.